Cells
by quantumsilver
Summary: Janeway. Chakotay. Cells. Or so they seem. Collaboration with Cheshire 6485.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** From QS, at Cheshire6485.

**Rating: T**

_Cells_

* * *

High-pitched squealing awakens her. Captain Janeway snaps open her eyes and instantly wishes that she had not: an overhead light centimeters from her face blinds her.

She notices the pounding afterward. Hard, head-encircling throbs that squeeze like a vice around the inside of her skull. The pain is bad enough to make her gasp; massaging her temples is instinctual as she sits up around the dangling light fixture, subsequently increasing the pounding. Trying to remember how she got such an incredible migraine only hurts even more, and she comes up empty.

She already knows one thing from the feel of the bedding under her, the smell of the room, and the proximity of this light alone:

She has no idea where she is.

When her bleary, light-bleached eyesight adjusts, it only proves her right. And she's never seen anything like this room's construct before. Dark floors are separated from a dark ceiling. The cot she's lying on is the only thing inside of the enclosed space. Instead of being square, the room has five walls. Four are solid. One is not.

There's a familiar shape across the room, on the other side of the glass wall. A shape she'd know just about anywhere.

"Chakotay," she tries to call out to him. He doesn't respond. The echo inside of this room, or chamber, whatever it is, makes her voice sound fuller and louder than it normally is.

He doesn't stir. She notes that he's in his undergarments, all grey undershirt and shorts and nothing else. She's fully dressed, from boots to pips and combadge. Pressing it, of course, yields no response. Not even a faint chitter that tells her something might be just out of range but not quite close enough to establish a link. Her sweaty finger jabs again but nothing. Not a chirp.

Janeway's gaze slides back to Chakotay, whose back is to her. His chest rises and falls rhythmically. He seems to be in a deep sleep and she can't see any wounds or marks anywhere on him. However, his state of undress is unnerving. He's got no shoes, no long-sleeved undershirt, nothing. Glancing around in his space reveals that he seems to be in a cell identical to hers. It has the same dark, seamless ceiling with the same centrally-placed cot on the same dark floor and with the same opaque walls on the four sides except for the wall separating them.

She can't see his missing clothing anywhere. It could possibly be bunched or folded on the floor on the other side of his cot, but if it isn't, it's gone.

So then who has it? Who stripped him of his clothes and placed him in this room, beside her?

The domed overhead light squeals suddenly, sending her into a defensive crouch over the black cot. It's only receding up into the seamless dark ceiling. Janeway uncoils cautiously.

Heat. She notes that next. The room is far too hot for human comfort. Sweat is rolling in beads down her neck and shoulders, gathering at the small of her back. Rivulets have gathered in her chest and under her thighs.

And almost as soon as she thinks it, a sudden blast of cool air kicks in overhead. Now where had that come from?

"Hello?" she tests the waters, so to speak. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway and that is my first officer, Commander Chakotay in the next room. Where are we? Why are we being detained here?"

Again, the echo, but by way of response - nothing. Not even a reaction from scenery this time. Perhaps it was coincidence, then. Her sweat begins to cool immediately, and the moisture it leaves behind is cold in contrast. If the air stays at this level, she'll be chilled soon.

She waits a moment, but the air does not lessen.

There goes that notion.

Sliding off of the dark, hard plastic cot, the sounds of her wet flesh being suctioned by plastic seem to resound loudly against the chilled air. Her legs are perfectly steady, unlike what she would have expected from alien sedatives, she notes, as she crosses the tiny room in less than eight steps.

The wall separating her from Chakotay does in fact exist, and it is solid. Janeway raps it with her knuckles. Once. Twice. A third time.

The light squeals again behind her, lowering back to the table and making her damned near ferociously annoyed at the resounding throbbing of her head. What she wouldn't give to introduce these people to a proud engineer like B'Elanna. She'd never allow that kind of negligence. The light squeals to a belated halt, and Janeway frowns deeply, furrows pulling at her aching forehead muscles. Hell. Maybe just a drop of good old-fashioned cooking oil would do the job.

But why did it move? Is it because she did?

Frowning, Janeway calls, "Hello? Is someone there?"

Again, nothing. She raps the glass again. Once. Twice. And then again. The light squeals back up another twelve to fifteen centimeters and stops, bright as ever.

Chakotay gives no indication that he hears any of it. Ignoring the light, she balls a tight right fist and pounds against the wall.

A door opens on the other side of the glass, on Chakotay's side, and more blinding light filters in through the opening.

* * *

Next scene. 850 words max, no physical violence?


	2. Chapter 2

**Cheshire's note**: QS chose option B.

_Cells_

As a wall of his assigned chamber slides aside, the warmth and brightness of new light awakens him. It's akin to the first ray of sunshine cutting across his childhood bedroom through the East window, bringing a summer sunrise. Growing up, he'd had a love/hate relationship with that first ray of light. Some days, it was the best way to wake up, and some days, as an experimental teenager in particular, it left him with a splitting headache from the night before.

Luckily, today doesn't follow one of those bad days of his youth as he sits up, swinging his feet over the edge of his cot and enjoying the warmth soaking into his skin. The other four walls of the chamber remain opaque, and Chakotay wonders when his hosts will deem him worthy to see beyond them.

One of the attendants from the previous day steps just inside the opening, blocking some of the streaming light that is growing softer as his eyes adjust. He watches the attendant's eyes widen as she peers curiously around his room.

"Have my surroundings changed so much since yesterday?"

She nods, mouth open as she stares at one wall in particular. Chakotay glances in the direction that has caught her attention. The flat, taupe expanse appears the same today as it did yesterday. Raking one hand through his hair, he can't help slight disappointment. "I wish I could see what you're seeing."

The girl finally tears her gaze away from the wall. "You will." She sneaks another glance and inches back a step. "Your mind is learning. Filling the void. After another day of meditations, your awareness of your surroundings will expand."

"Another day of meditations?" The muscles in Chakotay's back protest the thought. "I hope you have something more appropriate for me to wear."

"We will provide for you," she assures him. "We are blessed that you are able and willing to participate in our process." She glances again to the wall. "Your captain did not seem as open-minded as we had hoped."

Thoughts of Kathryn sitting in one of the reflection chambers, trying to fill it with her thoughts and feelings, make him grin. "She isn't the most spiritual being. But she is open-minded to other cultures' beliefs. She knew your process is something that I would find constructive."

"And how would she find it?" a male voice asks as a tall shadow darkens the open doorway.

Chakotay considers his reply carefully. He knows Kathryn well enough to know that, while the physical challenges of the process might intrigue her, the idea that her innermost thoughts and feelings could be drawn out of her and reflected within a chamber for others to see would likely horrify her. However, telling any culture that their religion could be considered horrific by others was not exactly a negotiating tactic they covered at the academy.

"I believe she would find it challenging, Minister," the first officer answers simply, hoping it will be enough.

"Do all the females of your species find it challenging to express themselves?" First Minister Keridos asks.

"Captain Janeway has no problem expressing her thoughts, Minister." Quite the opposite in fact, at least when it applies to most subjects. "In a position of command, it's not always recommended to express one's personal feelings."

The minister moves further into the room, examining each wall carefully, running his hand along the blank surfaces. "Did you rest well, Commander?"

"Very well, Minister. After yesterday's meditations, I had no doubt that rest would come easy."

The minister's hand rests against the taupe wall that had held such fascination for the young attendant. "You are beginning to fill your chambers, Commander, an impressive feat for an outsider after only a single day of meditation."

"Thank you, Minister. I'm trying."

"Then you are ready to continue?"

Chakotay nods. "With your permission, I would like to continue the process."

"Very well," Keridos replies, moving away from the wall and into the brightly-lit corridor. "Please follow your attendant; she will see that you are properly attired for the day and then take you to your point of demarcation."

Chakotay nods respectfully as the first minister leaves. A moment after, the wall has his full attention. It appears to be nothing more than a solid wall, and yet the desire to touch it is overwhelming.

"Is everything all right?"

Chakotay starts at the attendant's question. "What? Oh. Yes, I just thought…" He drops his hand away from its smooth inspection. "It was probably nothing."

"What did you think?"

He faces the wall again, seeing nothing but the flat beige color it has been since he arrived. "When the minister had his hand here, I thought I heard something."

The young attendant's tendrils glow a light blue as she smiles at her charge. "Imagine what you will hear after another day of meditation. Shall we begin?"

* * *

Next scene: Follow Chakotay or follow Janeway?


	3. Chapter 3

**QS's Note**: Two roads diverged and I…damn it, I chose the path most traveled. Judge not lest ye be judged. Etc. Etc.

_Cells_

* * *

The light in Chakotay's cell has become as blinding as her overhead light was initially. Janeway can only see shadowed silhouettes approaching him. He sits up, protecting his eyes, but even that pause makes it too late to defend himself, should they mean business.

They won't harm him. He's unarmed and peaceful. There's no reason to harm him.

And how many species have they encountered by now that need no reasons? They even brought a species with them from back home that never did need excuses to inflict pain or suffering.

Still. First contact goes well as often as not. There is no reason to assume that these aliens are hostile. Every effort appears to have been made to provide both of them with breathable, relatively temperate air.

Yet the longer she stares, the harder and the darker those sentient shapes in Chakotay's cell become.

"Don't harm him," she orders at their approach, uncertain why she knows that she will be heard.

The shadows look at her, as expected. Chakotay does not. She frowns deeply, pressing against the glass. What dark technology is allowing _them_ to hear her but not Chakotay? They seem to be exchanging words, with themselves and with him. Chakotay rolls his neck, absently massaging his shoulder, and her stomach tightens uncomfortably. It's possible that he only slept badly on his cot. Yet she can't dismiss the possibility that she has been unconscious for too long, and they focused unpleasant attention meant for her on him. But then, he's as proud as she is, whether he'd admit it aloud or not. If these unknown aliens intentionally caused him discomfort, he'd never allow them to see it. It makes her less apprehensive, though not by much.

Chakotay glances vaguely behind, peering into her cell but his eyes are empty, focusing on nothing, least of all her. He can't see her.

Why would they do that? There's no good reason she can conjure for this distinction. None at all.

The bottom line is that she doesn't trust these people that she still can't clearly see, and they are in a small cell with her first officer where she cannot reach him to defend him, if necessary.

The heat is back suddenly, making sweat gather under her clothes again, and that squealing light is going to be the death of someone as it screams back down over her flat, dark cot.

_Captain_.

The word isn't spoken; she hears it nonetheless. The wall goes opaque, shutting out the alternate source of illumination in addition to her line of sight to Chakotay, and Janeway whirls to face the intruder she now senses is with her, in this cell.

Only the light fixture hangs there, too close to the single dark cot. But she knows that she's not alone. She feels it in the whisper of air currents, stirring now-oppressive heat into sauna-like intensity.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Sweat again drips down her back, under her arms.

"You're making this more difficult than it has to be." Spoken, but not materially produced by anything in the fringes of that single, overhead dome light.

Her eyes scan the darkness fruitlessly. Her voice may have better success. "I'm Kathryn Janeway, captain of the Federation Starship Voyager. I want to know why my first officer and I are being held here against our will, and I want to contact my ship."

More disembodied whispers, then silence, and Janeway takes this as deliberate refusal to accommodate a reasonable conversation. They can communicate. They're choosing not to.

"Show yourself. I know you're here." She doesn't but she'd place decent stakes on it.

"Very well."

A short, stocky figure melts from many points out of darkness to a single lump that stands in the bright arc of spotlight shining on a portion of the floor.

No transporter did that; she knows it immediately.

There is no species she can place having the ability to melt into existence out of shadows except perhaps one, and this humanoid lacks the muted edges of that known race. His milky, almost colorless face and body outline are sharp, bony at the joints, where he isn't thick with muscle. Burnt orange cloth stripped with deep brown edges wraps Spartanly around most of him, including over the top of his head but his hands, elbows, and face are visible.

Her arms find their way to her sides as her shoulders straighten. "Who are you?"

The newcomer moves towards her slowly, and his large eyes strike a nerve deep within her. "Who do you think I am?"

"Someone with more patience for riddles than I seem to have."

Low gurgling might or might not be amusement. Now he's in the middle of the pentagonal room, standing by her cot. Angular fingers slide absently over the plastic but his double-orbed, yellow eyes do not stray from hers. "My name is Verol. I have told you this already."

Janeway darts a glance over her shoulder to the wall that had been clear until moments ago. Still obscured. She doesn't like that at all. What's happening over there?

"If that's true, then why don't I remember it?"

"We require your cooperation for a time," the alien claims smoothly, ignoring the question. "Nothing more. If you simply reset your expectations, this will be a relatively painless process."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Verol. And you're trying my patience. I'd like to speak with my first officer," and, because no one has ever accused her of being needlessly rude, she adds a hard, "please."

"I'm sure you're expecting this, but I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Janeway's chin levels in firm acceptance. "Then I can't offer my cooperation in this 'process' of yours."

Whatever it is.

His long fingers make an inverted steeple at the knuckles. He seems to sigh, if the wheezing of air across open vocal chords counts as such for his kind. "I see."

She hopes so but highly doubts it.

"And, Captain, tell me, please." His pale lips stretch wide over his boney, almost gaunt mouth as he takes another strong step forward, towards her position against the solid wall. "What exactly do you expect will happen to you, alone in this dark, isolated cell with me, if you refuse?"

* * *

~Or did I? Hmm. I guess that's up to you, C. No limits, except our original agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cheshire's note:** …yeah.

_Cells_

* * *

"We're not alone," Chakotay states, despite not being able to see more than a meter around him.

"Are you sure?"

He's sure, but the darkness they stand within argues against his certainty. Wherever they are, wherever it is that his guide has led him, is a huge space. At least, it feels that way. He imagines the space as a vacant warehouse, abandoned and exposed to the elements. For all he can see, though, the space could be no larger than his assigned reflection chambers.

It gives him pause. "Where are we?"

He's not entirely surprised when she doesn't answer. Yesterday, she didn't speak at all during his meditations. It was interesting that she questioned his assertion that they were alone at all. "And to answer your question, yes, I'm sure. There's someone else here. I don't know where, but they're here."

The circle of illumination in which he stands has no obvious point of origin; it simply moves with him as he begins to walk forward, penetrating the darkness no more than two meters in any direction. It creates no shadows, highlights no shapes in the dark, and so far, it has revealed nothing and no one.

And yet the feeling of being watched presses on him with increasing urgency. A bead of sweat rolls down his back. The smallest bit of stimulus in such an environment spurs his cognition. "It's getting warmer in here."

He's only been moving in a single direction, and the thought strikes him that he's playing a child's game of Hot-or-Cold. Has something been hidden from him and he has to find it? The minister told him the process would reveal inner truths, among other things. Inner truths he is fine with; that's what meditation is all about. It's these other, less defined things which concern him.

The screech of metal grinding against metal cuts across the dark silence. He feels the shadows shift around him, although nothing appears to move. The screech stops after only a few seconds, and a single, domed light flickers into existence overhead in the distance. Its beam is weak and swallowed by the darkness before it ever reaches the floor, but Chakotay moves towards it instantly.

"Like a moth to a flame," he mutters of himself under his breath, catching sight of his guide as she trails beside him. She appears to be as curious about the new source of light as he is, but she only offers an impish grin when she catches him looking at her.

The light dims and grows weaker the closer he gets to it, but his own light source is beginning to cast shadows. The further he walks the more his light crawls up alongside walls on either side of him. Within minutes, he's in a corridor with a definable ceiling and space enough for his guide to walk abreast of him, with room enough on each side for both of them to be comfortable with the personal space allotted.

The heat, however, is quickly becoming uncomfortable. Chakotay swipes the sleeve of his tunic across his face, wiping away beads of sweat that soak easily into the sturdy material he has been given. The single light hangs at the end of the corridor and flickers out when he is mere steps away from it. Damn.

It isn't until he stands directly under the burned-out fixture that he can see the new corridor doesn't end; it simply turns a corner. The glow of more powerful lighting fills the back half of the new corridor and a breeze of hot, dry air teases his face.

"If it gets any hotter down here, that could be a real problem," he tells the guide, wiping away more sweat and feeling it soak the back of his tunic.

Her tendrils shift from blue to green to orange. "It is your process, Commander."

Again, she speaks. He must be making progress after all.

"What do you mean?"

"You control the meditations."

"You mean all of _this _is just a meditation?"

His attendant's tendrils shift back to blue. As he's already figured out, this means she is either happy or amused or both.

"You could've just told me that." Ignoring the darkening blue, Chakotay tries to relax and imagine a fall breeze blowing in off the gulf. The sweat on his neck cools immediately as a rush of salty, sweet air sweeps through the corridor, and he can feel the heat draining from his face. "Better. What about the lights? Can we turn them on?"

The corridor in front of him remains stubbornly dark, as does the single fixture above his head. Somehow, he isn't surprised. "All right, then."

Believing he understands the situation slightly better, he steps into the new corridor. The glow of light begins to define itself into a pentagonal shape spanning from floor to ceiling. He holds a hand up in front of his face to try and block some of the glare as he moves closer. He can just see two figures moving around within the brightly-lit space.

And one of them, he would know anywhere. "Kathryn?"


	5. Chapter 5

**QS's note**: Always eat your vegetables. Always. Unless you can eat dessert. Then, always eat dessert.

_Cells_

* * *

Tom Paris has never been one to borrow trouble. He's never had to; trouble has always seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding him all on its own. He can't deny that he's seen his fair share of unpleasant situations, but Paris is still not sure whether to blame his own bad luck or Voyager's for this one.

The captain and Chakotay lie flat on their backs in front of him, unconscious in open pods and plied with copious shiny tubing of unfamiliar design. Nutrients run into both of them through some of those tubes, and huge, sweeping white beams of energy scan continuously across their bodies. Beside each of them, an alien of varying species has remained for the duration of this procedure, sometimes touching them, sometimes not, and real-sized, three dimensional projections of their shapes are filling with alien symbols behind their heads while the machines and aliens work.

The captain's representative projection is filling in very slowly with symbols. The ugly alien beside her frowns frequently, and the commander's representative projection is filling quickly. The alien female beside Chakotay runs a hand over his chest, and the tendrils sprouting from her shapely head glow blue.

Paris has no idea what any of it really means, and he wipes his brow with the back of his uniform sleeve. It's warm.

His medical tricorder readings are going haywire, and as he waves his scanner over his stationary captain, Paris runs into solid resistance. With a smothered choice phrase in Klingon, he forces a smile and glances at the stocky object preventing his full orbit around Janeway.

"Care to step aside, Verol?" he asks of the man who has been helping to scan his captain's brain into the alien computer system.

Verol stares at him with those double orbed eyes, immobile.

"All righty then." Paris moves back the way he came, back towards the human woman's unmoving legs, and frowns at the scanner. "You know, I really don't like the levels of her endorphins. They're plummeting. And her serotonin levels, too."

Otherwise, the state of her ions are ridiculously variable and everything else seems normal.

Verol says nothing. He never does. His freakishly intense gaze returns to Janeway's face. Her eyelids flutter rapidly, and as Tom watches, Verol's knuckles press into her shoulder. He almost reaches over to remove Verol's hand when a giggle from the other unit draws his attention.

Commander Chakotay, on the other hand, has been entirely stable throughout this enforced process. Beside him, the hollow representative humanoid projection is filling quickly with blocks of data that make sense to these aliens but not to Tom. About twenty percent of the figure that is meant to represent Chakotay is covered in symbols of text. Chakotay's companion reaches over to tap in more information manually, and the symbols keep appearing.

Behind Tom, the doors to the smooth stone cavern/chamber, he isn't sure which, swivel up from the ground to admit a Bregori figure. The identify of the figure is what makes Tom's eyes widen in surprise.

Minister Keridos, the first Bregori minister, if Tom isn't mistaken, has dropped by to visit in person. Paris knows him from the viewscreen of Voyager. Most notably, from the moment the captain and commander were beamed off the bridge upon identifying themselves as first and second in command. He watches the tall alien with the tendriled scalp and silver robes stride from pod to pod, closely examining a length of coiled tubing feeding into Chakotay before dropping it. It's only now that Tom notices that particular tubing isn't being fed to the captain's hand the way it is to Chakotay's hand; that tubing system is entirely absent from her setup.

"How much longer is this process meant to continue?" Paris asks, holding the detailed scans for later, when the minister won't notice.

The minister blinks. "Until we have scanned the entirety of your superiors into our system and determined that your people and your ship present no threat to our way of life, Lieutenant."

Tom's smile thins. He remembers the minister's unconcerned jingoism and sense of entitlement when his people had so abruptly removed Voyager's commanding officers from the ship without asking. Tuvok had been particularly unhappy. However, in the meantime, all they've really been able to negotiate with the Bregori has been allowing Tom to beam over and confirm that the command team isn't being harmed by the Bregori procedure, and that they continue to remain safe while held here.

"And forgive me, Minister, because I'm still a little unclear on all this, but how is scanning them into this system of yours supposed to help us?"

The minister's tendrils flush scarlet. "Until the process is complete, we will not be able to grant your vessel continued access through our system. You will be detained until you are cleared."

Paris takes a steadying breath. "As Commander Tuvok has already assured you, no one told us this was your space. If you'd marked the borders even a little bit, we might have been able to-"

"The process continues."

Tom's scanner blips loudly, firing a rapid sequence of alarm. Glancing at the screen, he frowns deeply. "Well, if her levels continue to drop like this, it's going to endanger her. If that happens, I'm going to have to insist-"

"The process. Continues." As does the scarlet flushing of the long tendrils that now twitch in clear agitation around the minister's blue face.

As the only conscious representative of Voyager in this sealed chamber, Tom has to ask, "And if we refuse?"

Keridos stares.

Paris sighs. "The process continues. Yeah. I got that." He glances again at his tricorder, frowning at the sudden epinephrine spikes. "Listen, I know there's a clear protocol against holograms in the grafting chamber," the name still gives him chills, "but I really think our medical hologram should-"

"Unacceptable. You may depart at any time."

"If I leave to consult with our doctor, I'd have to beam back." They raised hell about that to begin with, and his body still hasn't adjusted to the strangeness of the Bregori transportation technology.

"As I have stated," Keridos repeats slowly, as if speaking to a child, "you may depart at any time."

"And return at any time?"

The minister's tendrils glow peach. "Return is impossible. No new arrivals are permitted once the process has begun. I believe you were informed of this at the beginning."

Unbelievable.

"Your people immobilized our ship and removed the captain and the commander from our bridge without permission. We're trying to cooperate with you but-"

"Then I suggest you keep trying, Mr. Paris. As you know, resistance would be tactically unfavorable for your ship."

Unfortunately accurate. No tactical scenario in hell currently favors Voyager's technology against the Bregori. They managed to uncloak their entire fleet around Voyager without so much as a blip on their short range sensors, and this moon base of theirs would never have raised a hint of interest as they managed to erase any trace of life, energy, or notable raw materials from detection. Their weapons, once rendered scannable, are enough to make even Tuvok's mouth run dry.

Cocking his head, the minister flexes his short-webbed digits. After a moment of diverted attention in which Paris assumes he's receiving communications from outside the fortified chamber, the alien's attention returns. "I must go," Keridos declares. "The demands of my people are intense. I will have refreshments brought to you in the interim."

Paris swallows the snort. He's been told this twice now. Twelve hours ago, and twelve hours before that. He wishes Harry were here, because he'd love to place bets on whether or not that food will ever arrive. They're trying to starve him out.

"Minister," Paris calls out. His words echo in the thin, tall chamber. The man pauses but does not turn back. "If my readings show me that your 'mapping process' is making any attempt to harm the captain or the commander, I'm going to put a stop to it." He straightens, lowering his tricorder to his side at the deep silence that falls around his statement.

Then, "You may try," the minister states. He leaves as quietly as he had entered and is gone.

Paris's teeth unset with effort. He taps his metal-pinned chest. "Paris to Voyager."

Some of the tension flows out of his neck and shoulders when the answer comes.

"_Tuvok here."_

Tom shoots a furtive look across the chamber to the pods, or cots, whichever they truly are. Neither Verol or the young woman who has not spoken seem to be paying attention to him. Still, he's mindful of their presence.

"The captain and the commander are holding up so far," he announces, knowing the concerns of his shipmates who are probably listening to the call, too.

"_How are their readings? Can you tell what kind of scanning technology is being applied?"_ the doctor cuts in over the channel.

"Unfortunately, this mapping technology is nothing like anything we've ever seen. If I'm right, they've got about twenty percent of the commander mapped and about seven percent of the captain."

"_What is their end goal?"_

"So far, it appears to be what they've said. As far as I can tell, they're using both technological and biological tools to explore their minds." He glances down at the tricorder still in his hand. "But the captain's endorphins and neurotransmitters are fluctuating, sometimes dropping steeply."

"_Indicating that her body is responding to this process less favorably." _

"_Is it dangerous?"_ Tuvok asks before Paris can confirm the doctor's hypothesis.

"No. Not yet. What should I do, Commander?"

"_Remain at your post. Report any anomalies or additional information you can gather."_

"Yes sir." He glances at Verol, whose eyes are fixed to Janeway's closed, fluttering eyelids. "Ah. Speaking of that. Minister Keridos was just here."

"_The minister has visited you personally?" _

"Yeah." He found it odd, too. "He made it clear that this process is going to continue until they have the captain and the commander mapped. Whether we like it or not."

Chakotay's guide smiles, swaying as her eyes close and her palm spreads over his forehead. Paris's chest flutters oddly as her strange head tendrils glow a beautiful, deep blue. Information streams into his projected figure, behind his bed.

"How's Voyager?" Tom asks as his stomach rumbles loudly.

"_Stable. The Bregori have made no attempt to board or otherwise threaten us. However, you should be aware. If an attempt is made, we may lose communications. If that happens, it will be up to you to see to the captain's and the commander's welfare."_

It's a weighted statement, and an order that neither needs to be given nor lightens for having been spoken.

Paris nods, his spine stiffening with resolve. "Understood."


	6. Chapter 6

**Cheshire's note:** And zero to default.

_Cells_

* * *

Janeway eyes the short, stocky alien, enjoying the rare occasion to look down to someone. Even in the Delta Quadrant, she's short and usually forced to look up to maintain eye contact while negotiating with alien species. "Are you threatening me, Verol? You and I," she gestures broadly at their surroundings, "alone in this room." She gives him a half smirk. "I like my chances."

Verol's head cocks to the side. "You believe I am threatening physical violence? And that if I were, you could protect yourself? How little you understand."

"Enlighten me."

"Very well." His large, double-orbed eyes look away from her, their flat, metallic irises deepening into reflective mercury. The heat in the room grows oppressive and sound begins to ebb from the walls. The mercury of Verol's eyes ripples. A scent of stale flesh and metal fills the room. Janeway feels the sweat roll down her back as her uniform becomes thicker, heavier material, weighing her down. The constant sound from the walls distinguishes into clicks and whirs, the hum of thousands of individuals existing as one entity. The room dissolves into green light as hooks sink into her bare scalp, scraping her skull as they seek purchase.

Verol's disembodied voice sounds from her right. "You've had experience with the Borg. We would very much like to discuss that with you."

Pain drills into Janeway's right temple, but instead of the blue light she remembers, blinding white light diffuses the green until she is left standing once again in the pentagon cell. Verol watches dispassionately as she steadies herself with one hand thrown out against the opaque wall, swallowing back bile that threatens to rise.

"Do you feel enlightened now?"

Her hand shakes as she wipes the back of it across her mouth, reassuring herself with the familiar cloth of her uniform sleeve. "What the hell was that?"

"A recent experience of yours, as I'm sure you recall," he says, taking a seat on the black cot. "Negative experiences tend to be reviewed first as they are the most accessible."

"Accessible to what?"

"The process."

"I already told you I wouldn't cooperate with your process."

His smile is both condescending and predatory. "The process has already begun. We do not require your cooperation or permission, although the former would be more beneficial to you."

"Beneficial? How? Better rations? Maybe a blanket if it gets cold?" It wouldn't be the first time basic necessities were held in ransom in exchange for her cooperation.

"Rations?" Verol frowns. "Why would you require…oh, I see. You believe you are actually here." He gestures at their surroundings. "Physically, I mean." He shakes his head, giving her the patronizing smile again. "This chamber-"

"Cell," she interrupts.

He ignores her. "This chamber is a reflection portal for your mind. Your physical body is elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"Your body is at our facility under sedation. You are being closely monitored while you are scanned into our system."

None of that sounds like anything she wants to take part in.

But his words strike a chord. Memory surfaces of suddenly finding herself inside an alien structure, her skin tingling with shock from what she assumes are the after-effects of transportation. Chakotay is at her side, appearing to be in the much the same state of confusion and giving his head a hard shake. Verol stands in front of them.

"You were there."

He nods. "I am your guide."

She blinks, unable to stop the recall. Her knees impact the ground and she barely manages to hold herself up, the after-effects of the alien transporter worsening as her body settles into the new atmosphere. Two blue aliens with tendrils glowing a soft red move past Verol and help her to her feet. They half-support, half-carry her towards an open pod in the center of a room otherwise bustling with activity. She tries to look around, to see Chakotay, but everything in the room shifts lazily with her movement, walls float by tethered to each other at odd angles and the people double and triple, their outlines blurring together.

One of the aliens supporting her leans down and slides an arm under her legs, lifting her easily. The side wall becomes the ceiling and her other caregiver suddenly gains the ability to walk upside down. To avoid physical sickness, she closes her eyes and feels herself being gently lowered onto a soft pad and the alien arms sliding out from underneath her.

"You put me in one of those pods." The security of the unmoving pod and its walls had, at first, been welcome. "That's where I am now? That's where my body is?"

"Yes, and I am there with you." His eyes ripple and his head tilts again to the angle. "Can you feel this?"

Pressure grips her shoulder, not painful but not pleasant either. She reflexively touches the area, feeling the solid presence pressing against her but unable to sense anything causing it.

"That's me," Verol explains. "There in the physical world, I'm at your side, _trying_ to guide you."

The pressure leaves her shoulder and she watches his eyes return to their unsympathetic matte. "And my officer is there, too? Are you his guide as well?"

"No." He looks at the wall behind her and frowns. "No, the commander has a different guide; a guide that is enjoying her experience as he cooperates with the process."

She risks a quick glance, but the wall leading to Chakotay's cell remains opaque. "You're lying. Chakotay would never cooperate with this so called process of yours. Not after you kidnapped us from our ship against our will."

"The commander withstood the relocation much better than you. He was reasonable enough to understand what we are trying to accomplish. He _agreed_ to the process as did your Commander Tuvok."

"Tuvok knows I'm here?" If it's the truth, it's a relief. If it's the truth… "They only agreed under duress, didn't they? You already had me."

Verol pushes back to his feet as the room begins to brighten. "Captain, there are two things you need to understand. The process has already started; it will be completed. The longer the process takes, the more detrimental it will be for both your mind and your body." He walks towards her. "I can guide you through an exceptional cooperative experience that will be beneficial to everyone. Or…"

She glances at the light fixture, blinking against the increasing glare of the room. It isn't the fixture that's causing the blinding glare; the singular fixture is burned out. It is the walls of the pentagonal room that have begun to glow. She coughs and the walls blink out leaving her momentarily in darkness. She coughs again, a burning sensation igniting in her lungs, as the walls pulse with the color of danger. Red light bathes the room in as the walls strobe an alert.

"Verol," she coughs again, "what is this? What's going on?"

Poisonous fog begins to build at Janeway's feet. In between flashes of red and solid darkness, Verol appears at her side seemingly unaffected as she tries desperately to catch her breath. "Or the process will forcibly extract from you what we need to know." He scoops a hand through the fog. "I'd guess you have about two minutes left to decide."


	7. Chapter 7

**QS's note:** I've actually got nothing.

_Cells_

* * *

Without warning, noxious gas floods the dark pentagonal room ahead of him. The walls pulse a deep, ruby red similar to red alerts on Federation ships, and, try as he might, Chakotay can pinpoint absolutely nothing from within himself that might have caused this alarming development.

"What's happening?" he asks.

His guide's fluttering hand is on his forehead, almost as if she doesn't want him to see what's ahead. "This is interesting," she says, but it's not an answer. Further, her tone suddenly isn't quite authentic, and why is she replying at all? That's two answers more now than she's ever given him during a meditation stretch before.

"Kathryn?" Chakotay tries, moving towards her instead.

She doesn't appear to hear him. The strange alien between them, however, glances back in annoyance. He _does_ hear them. Chakotay is certain of it. Then _he_ must be the figment and not Kathryn, who isn't really here.

Right?

Kathryn, or the figure that represents her, staggers. It takes Chakotay several forward steps into the unsourced light to deduce the reason. That dank, deeply-stained gas is climbing up the blinking red walls and her sweat-dampened uniform, swirling up near her face.

"What's happening?" he asks again, real alarm sweeping through him. Projection or not, that particular pattern of timed red blinking causes a genuine spike of anxiety that has been ingrained in him for years, and the smoke is too thick to breathe.

The smoke isn't real. And neither, logically, is Kathryn. But then there's a chance, however remote, that a projection of Kathryn Janeway might be harmed by a projection of toxic fumes, and Chakotay moves instinctively to get her out of harm's way.

The heat has returned without warning and his arms become slick under his meditation robes as he moves. Before he gets more than a few steps, Chakotay feels his guide's hands wrap around his torso, very real strength applied in keeping him back.

She's physically restraining him. Why would she do that? She's never tried to restrain his movements before.

"Let go," he orders. But she doesn't.

"We shouldn't be here. This isn't for us," the guide frets, her arms tight around his chest. "Come with me, Commander."

"Get him out," the short, orange-draped figure in front of Kathryn snarls over his shoulder.

Janeway still gives no indication that she hears them. She's coughing. Even from this distance, Chakotay can see her chest shaking to draw in real, oxygenating breath.

"Commander, come back this way. Come back with me," his guide purrs up into his ear as he drags her several steps with him down the long corridor separating him from Kathryn in the room ahead. "We shouldn't be here," the Bregori woman insists. "This was a mistake. I should have redirected you sooner."

Chakotay tries to unwrap the alien from around his body as Kathryn's hand paws at a wall behind her, apparently seeking support. Only now does he notice the curved claws at the end of his guide's webbed digits as they sink into him, or the projection of him, or whatever part of him seems to feel it. The nails are sharp, strong, and thick and it turns a switch in his brain in an instant.

He's not making these claws dig into him with his mind. There's nothing inside of him that is making _this_ happen.

All thoughts of meditation, spiritual enlightenment and cooperation vanish. Chakotay fights the Bregori guide's pinioning claws with his full strength, and it doesn't seem to be much against her when she is fully pushed. She's stronger than she looks.

As he drags himself and the clinging alien female forward, the figure standing by Kathryn whirls and disappears from sight, but not before Chakotay catches a glimpse of double-orbed eyes that shine like molten mercury at the centers. Nothing in them implies benevolence.

"Kathryn," Chakotay shouts, noticing that she has slid to her knees in the interim. The fog obscures everything below her waist now.

And then her head cricks to the side as if she's heard a particularly relevant sound.

"Kathryn!" he tries again.

She lifts her head and for the first time, through tears pricked by smoke streaming down her face, she looks directly into his eyes. Recognition sparks. She's coughing far too harshly to speak but she sees him. He knows that she does. And if she sees him…

"What the hell is going on here?" the commander demands, throwing himself free of his guide's cloying grip at last. He lunges for Janeway, who is now almost fully obscured by the fog of smoke.

Double-orbed mercury glints in his face just as he reaches out to pull her up, a snarl of utter frustration flashing flat, thin teeth across a gaunt, bony mouth.

"Wake him," Chakotay hears through that horrifying jaw of the alien who has reappeared to thwart him from his goal.

"Move away from her," Chakotay orders, then coughs, trying to shove the ugly alien out of his way and getting a lungful of smoke for the first time for his troubles.

His guide is on his heels from the sound of her voice. "Now? Are you sure? I don't think-"

"_Wake him_," the short alien hisses as Chakotay reaches Janeway, who is barely able to breathe by now. His arm curls around her, helping her up-

Chakotay's eyes snap open as he bolts upright in an unfamiliar alien pod with a webbed horror of tubing woven through parts of his body.


	8. Chapter 8

**Cheshire**

_Cells_

* * *

Physical sickness surges up from his gut at the sight before him and the contents of the room spin around him in an undistinguishable silver blur as Chakotay lurches against the side of the pod and the contents of his stomach make a violent exit. His head pounds as warning sounds penetrate the hot, thick padding that he swears is wrapped around his skull. His skin pinches and inserted tubes pull painfully as he reaches one hand toward his head in an effort to tear off whatever bandage is wrapped there, but all he finds is sweat-soaked hair.

"Commander!"

Thick, cloying liquid clings to his lips, making Chakotay want to spit again. The small bit of floor that he's staring blankly at becomes clearer, his sight finally settling along with his stomach. The alarms are shut off, allowing the voices around him to begin making sense.

"The whole point of my being here-"

He knows that voice. Tom has argued enough with him over the years for Chakotay to recognize the arrogant, frustrated pilot's tone. It also carries a note of concern with it that Chakotay doesn't usually find directed towards him.

"It wasn't safe to bring him out like that, you know bet-"

"He ordered me; I didn't have a-"

"He needs to lie down before-"

Someone coughs.

It's a weak sound, a pathetic rasp in the maelstrom of activity swirling around him. Chakotay manages to raise his head just enough to see the identical open pod across from him. He can just barely see over the edge, but it's enough for him to know who's in there. She coughs again.

"Kath-ryn?" He can barely form her name his throat is so dry. How long has he been unconscious? Something off to his left crashes and then a blur of movement rushes to him.

"Easy, Chakotay, she's stable." Strong hands push against his shoulders, moving him off the edge of his pod. "Come on, lie back down before you pull one of these things out."

"Paris! Is that-" But he knows the answer to that question. He grabs the front of the medic's uniform. "What's she doing here?"

"They brought her over the same time they brought you over. Don't you remember?" Familiar medical tricorder alarms sound before Tom can shut them off. "Sorry, Commander, I can't get it calibrated to accept all this Bregori…stuff."

Chakotay catches Tom's gesturing wrist, feeling the tubes pull at his skin. "Get her out of there, Tom! They're killing her!"

"She's in no physical danger, Commander."

The female guide that had walked with him through the so-called meditations stands at the side of his pod opposite Tom. Her light orange tendrils glow purple near the crown of her head and the claws he could so easily remember digging into his skin as she held him back click against the external tubing.

"I apologize for not being a better guide, Commander. Your meditations should have never intersected with hers, but then, we have never encountered two beings such as yourselves." The purple glow extends down a third of her tendril. "Your energies are so disparate; we never expected they would be drawn to each other."

"She was in pain," he insists, seeing Tom's eyes darken. "I saw her; you know I saw her."

Tom withdraws from the conversation, turning his attention and the scanning wand to his captain, ignoring the weak sound of protest from Chakotay's guide. "Her readings are elevated, but they aren't at dangerous levels."

"Why is she coughing?"

"It's reflexive only," the guide claims, the orange color regaining ground from the purple. "It was a powerful meditation Verol was guiding her through."

"Where is Verol then? I think I'd like to speak to him."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible right now."

"He left," Tom confirms. "He stormed out a few seconds after you woke up. He didn't look too happy."

"Good." Chakotay pushes up to his elbows, ignoring the way his guide's hands attempt to push him down, noting that she isn't as strong in the physical world. "If he isn't here, he isn't guiding Captain Janeway through anything at the moment. Wake her up, Tom."

"You can't do that!"

"The hell we can't. Tom!"

The Bregori female lunges across the pod, catching Tom's arm. "If you try to wake her up now, you'll kill her." Her tendrils glow a deep sunset orange as her claws dig into Tom's sleeve. "Or worse."

"What do you mean worse?" Chakotay asks as Tom nods, indicating he'll wait to revive Janeway to hear the guide's answer.

"Verol would never have left her active without a guide. That means he's placed her in a state of mental sedation; she's safe," she hurries to add, "but she'll not rouse from it without assistance. If you physically waken her without the assistance of a guide to mentally direct her path, the results could be devastating."

"Devastating how?" Tom asks intently.

"If the shock doesn't physically kill her, she'll likely suffer a long slow death. She would be an empty shell; her mind, her very essence, would be locked away where it could never be reached." She looks across Chakotay at the very still form of Captain Janeway. "The body cannot function forever without the mind."

"Is this why you scan commanding officers?" Tom asks suddenly. "So if you don't like what you find out you can just lock them away to die?"

"That is precisely what we do," a male voice answers.

"Minister Keridos." The guide bows at the waist before stepping away as the first Bregori minister makes his way towards the two pods with Verol walking beside him. "And from what Guide Verol has just reported to me, I can assure you that I have no intention of letting Captain Janeway ever awaken again."


	9. Chapter 9

**QS****:** Apologies for the delay. Apologies for the result.

_Cells_

* * *

"_Ghuy'cha'_."

Muttered Klingon curses fill the bridge, thoroughly reassuring the non-Klingon inhabitants. Frankly, they're surprised it's taken so long to start.

"What do they think they're doing, just _refusing_ to wake her? They can't do this. These pieces of _baktag_ won't get away with it."

"Miss Torres." Calm, steady inflections from the center of the bridge offer diametric opposition to her venom. "While I appreciate your vigor in this matter, I too am displeased with current-"

"Dis_pleased_?" B'Elanna snarls from her underused station on the bridge's right side. "They're incubating them like drones over there. And we're just sitting here, doing nothing."

"We are hardly doing nothing," Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok counters from the command chair, where his fingers have not tired of running hypothetical drills for hours. "We are conserving power, pretending to capitulate while analyzing Bregori technology for weakness in order to form intelligent opposition. You yourself have been striving without pause to infiltrate their shielding."

It's all she's done in the last eighteen hours, at least. From the bombshell of Lieutenant Paris's latest report on the outrageous conduct of the Bregori authorities on, she hasn't moved from her chair.

"Well it sure feels like a whole lot of nothing from here. Unh!" Unified flinches are observable as her strong hands slap the console in front of her before her fingers curl into unyielding metal, almost as if to dig into the casing and rip it off the useless circuitry within. "Their damned shielding is the most complex web of misdirection I've ever seen. Every time I think I've tunneled into their systems, I get bounced back out. If we had this kind of shielding not even the Borg would stand a chance against us."

Her frustration is understood by all. No longer orbiting the planet where the command team and Paris are located, Voyager hovers over a nearby deserted moon, flanked in higher orbits by an escort of four Bregori ships. These are the same ships that so kindly escorted them away from the central planet after Tuvok made one too many demands to have the bridge crew returned. Until an appropriate method of countering the superior Bregori energy systems is devised, resistance remains highly unfavorable for Voyager, and the major tasks required of most of the hostage Voyager crewmembers have been intellectual in nature. No one has gotten anything like exercise since this whole incident began, and the constant stress hormones pumping through them have set most of them on some kind of edge or another.

Torres is only famous for showing it.

"Can I help?" Harry Kim asks, not for the first time, from OPS. "Maybe if we try simultaneously from different carrier waves we can fool the-"

"I've already tried that. Their constant security sweeps tangle our feeds on each other and bounce them back intertwined."

"It would explain the radiation their shields give off if every EM wave is bounced off it the same way," Harry observes. It would also explain why it's such an elusive system to analyze. "Maybe there's a way to mimic the frequency of their source, and trick the system into-"

"It won't work," Torres snaps, missing his blink of disappointment. "I don't even know what kind of power these_ bIHnuch_ aliens are using and our scans are scattering like Romulan cockroaches whenever I try to pinpoint the origin of the field at a quantum level." Light brown hands smack again on the casing with vim. "I'm telling you, this is like nothing I've ever seen. It's incredible." The particular blend of rage and admiration falls oddly on the eardrums of her companions. "If I could just…"

The organic components of the bridge fall silent as her hands move over buttons like a musician desperately working a reluctant symphony from an inadequate instrument.

"If you could just…?" Harry prompts, meeting eyes with Ayala at Tactical as they all hang on Torres's broken trains of thought.

B'Elanna's head cocks as she re-realizes she's not alone. "I mean… if I could get inside the compound, get a look around, maybe I could at least figure out what kind of power source they're using for all this high-energy deflection. But they won't even take our audio hails now, much less allow visual communication."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance."

B'Elanna has missed the opening of the bridge doors to the turbolift, but the others heard them and aren't as surprised at the newly-arrived voice intruding into the hot air of the bridge.

"Seven," Tuvok stands to greet her as the dark lighting of grey mode shadows his face. "Are you recovered?"

Seven nods succinctly. "My cortical node is sufficiently adjusted." It has, apparently, been acting up again ever since they've come into proximity with Bregori technology. "The doctor has endorsed my return to active duty. From the sound of it, my services are needed."

Kim's cringing eyes dart apprehensively to Torres, who snorts in self-derision.

"I hate to admit it but you're right. I could use you. I've been at it for almost eighteen hours and I'm hitting nothing but brick walls here. I need to get a look inside."

Seven's metal brow slides upward. "The alien compound is comprised of crudely interwoven masonry blocks?"

Snickers sound from both sides of the bridge. Torres and Tuvok don't share in them.

"It was a figure of speech, Seven," Torres snaps, softening only when her gaze accidentally lands on the impassive Vulcan in charge. "But to be honest, even if it weren't I wouldn't know it. I can't get past their shielding far enough for a decent scan of their systems, much less to locate Tom, Chakotay and the captain to try to extract them."

"You do have one connection to the inside of the compound that you have not considered," Seven declares.

B'Elanna sits back from her console for the first time in hours, arms folding across her weary chest, thick Klingon brow arched in annoyed expectation. "I'm listening." And studiously ignoring the way Ayala, Wildman, Baytart, and Kim's heads are swiveling from one speaker to another as if they're watching some prized parrises squares match, in addition.

"Is Lieutenant Paris still in contact with Voyager?"

Torres nods. "Yes. We've been permitted to maintain audio contact with him. He's the only reason we even have any idea what's going on over there at all."

No one mentions the slip of her hard tone at Paris's introduction to the conversation; no one is that stupid or that cruel.

"How often is he permitted to report back to Voyager?"

"I…" That throws her. Torres blinks. "There hasn't really been any limit that I can see. He's checked in…what?" She looks to Baytart, Ayala, Tuvok for input. "Six times now?"

"Nine," Tuvok supplies, observing the exchange with infinite patience, as usual.

Seven turns her back to the bridge, accessing a free console. Standard Starfleet frequencies begin appearing on the large screens she manipulates, joined by mathematical formulas that make Ayala and Baytart, who strains to glimpse the general idea from the helm, flinch. "You are establishing this audio link via his standard Starfleet-issued commbadge, is this correct?" the former Borg queries.

"Yeah. So?" B'Elanna has circled away from her alcove to the open console station behind the command chairs now, to where Seven has begun calculations that only a former drone could perform so rapidly. As Torres stares a moment longer, she believes she begins to understand. "Oh. Well. That's brilliant."

Her grudging respect turns the mood of the bridge several shades lighter immediately.

"That won't solve the problem of how to get past all their superior power sources," B'Elanna notes.

"But it may enable us to discern the nature of its superiority, and then-"

"Devise a strategy for neutralizing it. Good. That's a good start, Seven. But if we amplify the carrier wave that much, I can't believe they're not going to notice. We'll have to find a way to de-compensate the natural amplification of the subatomic response."

"May I ask what it is that the two of you are planning?" Tuvok interjects for the rest of them at last, after moments of likewise cryptic comments from Torres and continued calculations by the former Borg.

The two women pause in their activity, glancing back at the rest of the bridge crew in unison. B'Elanna smiles fiercely. Seven just looks smug.


	10. Chapter 10

**Cheshire**

_Cells_

* * *

"She is antagonistic, combative, and thoroughly obstinate."

Chakotay can practically hear Tom's molars crack as the pilot grinds his teeth together, physically preventing himself from rebuking the minister's characterization of Kathryn Janeway – despite its accuracy.

"You're right, Minister," Chakotay finds he has to allow. "She is all of those things."

"Chakotay!"

He holds a hand up to silence the younger man. Despite their many disagreements over the years, Tom usually has the restraint necessary to avoid speaking out of turn in front of others. Usually. The blue-black smudges darkening the corners under the pilot's eyes betray his fatigue. Chakotay has never quite understood the unique bond that Kathryn and Tom share, but he is aware of it and he knows the mental stress the pilot is under. He knows if anything happens to her here, Paris will likely never forgive himself.

"That is to say," Chakotay continues, "that Captain Janeway _can_ be all of those things. Given the situation I witnessed, however, I can't fathom what else you could possibly have expected from her."

"Her refusal to cooperate is what forced her into that situation to begin with." Verol's thin teeth briefly appear in what Chakotay can only think of as a grimace before the alien continues more calmly. "If she had simply cooperated with the process as you did, she would have never been subjected to re-experiencing such harsh memories."

Chakotay's brow furrows. "That was a memory?"

"Yes."

"Which memory was it?" Tom asks.

Verol's double orbed eyes focus on Tom. "One that didn't involve you."

"Tom." Chakotay warns him off before he can snap, and Paris leans away from the table grudgingly, his arms crossing tightly over his chest as sits back in his seat. Returning his attention to Verol, Chakotay continues, "None of the process that I completed had anything to do with my memories. They were more like challenges and problem solving."

"They were decision points. We exposed you to stimuli and were able to assess your character based on your reactions and decisions." The double orbs blink simultaneously as Verol's voice takes on a glacial quality. "When a subject such as your captain does not cooperate with the process, we must determine her character through other means. Janeway refused every offer to join the process of her own accord." He shrugs. "Other measures were initiated."

Chakotay doesn't bother to hide his confusion. "Captain Janeway was unconscious minutes after we arrived." That much, he remembers. "How did she refuse your offers?"

Verol makes a low gurgling sound as he pushes away from the table. Tom's mouth curls briefly into a grimace before flattening out again as Minister Keridos raps his clawed, webbed hand against the table between them.

"Your captain is unconscious now yet you do not question our ability to communicate with her," the minister snaps.

"That's true, but-"

The minister's tendrils flush a deep crimson. "Then you are accusing us of lying."

The corner of Chakotay's mouth twitches upwards. He can easily imagine Kathryn's reactions to such one-sided posturing. "Of course not, Minister. I'm simply trying to find out the circumstances under which these offers were made to Captain Janeway."

"To what end?" Verol asks, returning to the table carrying refreshments that he doesn't offer to anyone else. "What difference would it make for you to know?"

It's a genuine wonder that they got her to speak with them at all if this was the extent of their communication attempts. Chakotay takes another steadying breath to calm himself before explaining, "I'm her first officer, and I've known her for several years. I've been able to observe her under all sorts of circumstances. With a few details, I'm sure I could offer insight to her motives for refusing your process." He's already thought of plenty of reasons why she would refuse. "For instance, when were these offers made?"

Verol's intense eyes appear to ripple before he speaks. "We had to wait until she was acclimated which took an extra, lengthy medical procedure. You had already started your first meditations when we first encountered her obstinacy."

"And was she aware of her situation?" Chakotay presses. "Did she know where she was?"

"It wasn't necessary for her to know."

"I see. Did she know I was there?"

Keridos makes an impatient gesture of settling in his seat, visibly reminding them that he is only here speaking to them under protest.

Verrol sniffs. "She did."

"Did she ask about me?"

"Your whereabouts were her first concern."

"Let me guess," Tom leans forward on the table, interjecting, "you assured her that he was fine but that she wouldn't be allowed to speak to him."

"It's part of the process," Keridos replies sharply.

"Yeah, well," Tom laughs, "good luck getting her cooperation after that answer."

"What Lieutenant Paris means to say," Chakotay clarifies with a sharp glance at the man in question, "is that Captain Janeway is very protective of the people serving under her. She would have been more concerned about my welfare than anything you or even she wanted. Until that priority was resolved in her mind," he shakes his head, "all bets were off."

"We assured her repeatedly that you were cooperating."

"But she didn't hear it from me." He holds a hand up. "Believe me, Minister. I understand that she can be exasperating. But as a leader of your people, surely you can appreciate her instinct to protect as a positive quality."

"Perhaps." His tendrils shift continuously between burnt orange and red. "However, it changes nothing. The process must continue. It must be completed."

"You mean you want to continue torturing her?" Tom demands.

"As we have explained numerous times, the process will take place with or without your cooperation or hers. It has already taken up too much of my time." Keridos stands. "Currently, I see no reason to allow your ship, its crew, or your captain to traverse any further into our space. Your species is a danger I will not expose my people to."

"Our _species_?"

"You're making a mistake, Minister," Chakotay says, ignoring Tom. "There's a lot more to us than what you've seen so far. Give us another chance; give _her_ another chance."

The minister's tendrils flatten out to pale, translucent colors. "Your meditations gave me hope, Commander that our worlds could find common ground, but your captain does not. Nothing about her circumstances has changed. I see no reason to try again."

"Then change the circumstances. Send me in with her."


	11. Chapter 11

**QS's note**: Sorry for the delay. So much work. So many VAMB exchanges and contests.

_Cells_

* * *

Unfamiliar noise cracks through her awareness – the sound of a gear grinding in the distance? Janeway's eyes open too swiftly, following the sound, and bright light attacks her aching vision. She snaps her eyes shut, hardly aware of massaging her temple with cold fingers. The sound fades.

"Easy. Take it slow, Captain. It can be hard to transition."

Has she made some soft noise of discomfort? The voice at her side and a familiar pressure on her upper arm seem to imply it.

"Where are we?" she asks, her vocal chords rusty and dry.

It's nowhere familiar. Only Chakotay's voice and faint, woodsy scent can be placed. The rest is alien. This isn't Voyager and doesn't even feel like a ship. It's too…heavy.

Her first officer doesn't answer. That's never a good sign.

Her eyes are fully open now despite the faint throb of a burgeoning headache, and their surroundings are revealed in a single hard glance: a cell. Some oddly-shaped, six-walled cell. It reminds her of the walls of a honey comb cell, if the warm amber were replaced with cold white concrete. She sits on a single bed complete with human-style pillow and a frilly comforter similar to the one she'd had on her bed growing up on Earth. Somewhere in the far distance, that unholy grinding noise sounds again, like gears clinking across gears. She can't determine the source of the sound and it's gone again before she can ask him about it. A square overhead light dominates a good portion of the smooth ceiling and Chakotay is standing, out of uniform, at her side.

She frowns at his simple brown two-piece garb before glancing down over her own now-seated form. She's still in uniform, complete with commbadge and pips. "What's going on? Why are we here? For that matter, where is here?"

Her first officer hesitates before offering, "I know you're not going to like this, but I'm not allowed to say."

"I beg your pardon?" It's all it takes before she's standing on the smooth concrete floor, albeit unsteadily. Has she been drugged? She's forced to wonder, scanning Chakotay closely for signs of similar unsteadiness. He seems clear-eyed and steady.

"I'm afraid there's a lot about our situation that I can't exactly explain," he claims.

"Try," she "suggests" in a hard, monotone clip, less than pleased with his strange, appreciative smile at her tone.

"We're in a high-stakes situation. How well we cooperate with a certain meditative process in the next few hours, or possibly days, could determine Voyager's immediate future. More than that, I'm not at liberty to say."

It takes no time at all to categorize her response. "Unacceptable."

"I know." Chakotay winces visibly with a soft nod. "And I agree. But believe me when I tell you I've reviewed the options available to us and I'm of the opinion that if you did know all the facts, you'd agree with me. So I'm asking you to trust me on this. We need to try to work our way through a certain painless mental process, and then everything should be made clear to both of us."

Her eyes scan the room again before settling on his strangely schooled features. "You said something about Voyager's future," she reminds him, watching him shift in place with sharp eyes. "Is the ship in danger?"

"It…could be."

If they don't do a specific something for a specific someone. It's becoming slightly clearer, at least. "What you're not saying is that there's some form of blackmail involved here."

When Chakotay blinks heavily, regretfully, it reveals more than any outsider could possibly guess. "I can't say, Captain."

"Are they after our technology?" she needs to know before she can consider going any further with this ludicrous pretense of cooperation with someone or something that she can't even see.

"I highly doubt they are."

He gives no sign of being under duress with his response; he believes what he's saying. It's almost a relief. That grinding horror of a sound returns, making her almost unheard by him as she squints, rubbing her left temple again. "What the hell is that noise?"

A creature appears in their midst on the other side of the long frilly bed, making her hand reach for a nonexistent weapon at her side. Chakotay catches the action as the form melts from a puddle into a single form and he places a steady hand on her forearm, drawing her imperceptibly closer to his side. When the mass consolidates, the alien's ugly face makes Janeway blink hard to conceal a visceral displeasure at the shape of his features and eyes. His orange clothing with brown striping moves stiffly as he takes a step closer to them, halted by the bed. The creature then surveys them coldly, glancing over the bare white walls, the ceiling light, and the unmade bed between them.

"You have not begun," he snaps. It's a clear accusation.

"We were just getting started."

"Commander," Janeway cuts in over the clear tension between the two bristling men. "Introduce us."

"This is Verol, Captain. He's supposed to be your guide. One of them, anyway."

The two share another hard look that Janeway dislikes intensely. Whatever has passed between them hasn't been pleasant.

"Who's the other?" she ventures to ask, keeping her focus on the intruder, or guide, or whatever he really is.

"Me," Chakotay supplies, surprising her. "If you're willing to trust me, that is, and try to follow my lead."

Verol is staring her down, his milky skin turning a sallow pallor while he stands waiting for her reply. She squares her shoulders, staring back into his large yellow eyes. "It doesn't sound as if I have much choice," she notes bitterly for both of them.

"You certainly do, Captain," this Verol spits. "In fact, why don't you refuse outright, the way you know you want to, and save us all a lot of time and trouble?"

So this rude alien wants her to refuse, and her first officer wants her to comply. It's a simpler choice than she'd expected when Chakotay first outlined their situation in such infuriatingly vague terms, and her decision is made, that simply. She turns to Chakotay. "What do I have to do?"

He smiles softly, holding out his arm. "Take my hand."


	12. Chapter 12

**Cheshire**

_Cells_

Dark, coarse sand slips and slides beneath her boots as she trudges the final few steps onto the beach before sinking gratefully to her knees. Bending over until her elbows touch ground, she sinks slightly into the damp earth. Deep, gulping breaths and a stitch in her side are slow to dissipate. Turning her head to the side, her soaked and matted hair separates into clumps, allowing her to see the brown-clad legs waiting patiently by her side for her to recover. Her glare may be tired, exhausted even, but it still holds power as she slowly pushes herself up to sit back on her heels.

"You're doing great," Chakotay offers, sinking into a crouch beside her.

A heavy, disgruntled sigh diffuses the last of her adrenalin. "You're already dry."

He has the grace to look chagrined. "I keep telling you; this is your process."

Janeway tosses a small sliver of dark wood at him that bounces off his chest as she repositions herself more comfortably on the ground, sitting down to face the shattered remains of their kayak and the fast-moving river they just traversed.

"At least you've still got your boots," he points out as she pulls them off one at a time to dump river silt out of them. He settles himself next to her on the ground. "I'd already lost mine and my tunic by this point."

Her boot thuds against the ground harder than necessary. "And you still can't tell me what this is all about."

It isn't even a question anymore and he knows better than to repeat himself. They both know the answer; they've argued this particular point more than a few times already.

The captain's meditations are unfolding much as Chakotay predicted. She is excelling in the mental puzzles and physical challenges Verol conjures for her, and in the heat of the moment she is fine, tackling whatever appears in front of her. It's in the downtime afterward that her frustrations resurface.

"So, where is Verol?" she asks, wringing out her forlorn socks. "Has he left already to devise my next torture session?"

Chakotay winces, thankful she doesn't remember Verol's previous attempts to coerce her cooperation. "They aren't designed to be tortures, Captain. They're supposed to be…experiences," he explains for lack of a better word. "Did you enjoy the river at all?"

Janeway leans back on her hands, letting her jacket hang open. "Yes, it was quite lovely. There was a nice breeze; the scenery was gorgeous." She points at an imagined spot somewhere upstream. "But then we hit the rapids, and we smashed against a boulder the size of the Delta Flyer." She rolls her head to the side to look at him. "You remember that part, right? We got dumped into the water and had to swim for our lives?"

"I recall, yes." He considers commenting on the fact that at least the water wasn't freezing, but hesitates when Verol melts into view at the water's edge.

"What is it?" she asks, straightening beside him in reaction to his stiffening posture.

"Verol is here," he explains, no longer surprised that she can't see him. Despite being ever-present, the guide has only made himself visible to Kathryn occasionally. It makes Chakotay wonder how many others watched him during his meditations that he'd never known were there.

Her gaze races over their immediate surroundings, from the tall trees and leafy, green undergrowth to the sandy beach where the river continues to rock against the remains of their boat. She even scans the cliff face on the opposite side of the river but doesn't find any sign of him that she can detect. "I hate this," she says quietly enough that only Chakotay should be able to hear her.

"I know," he replies without taking his eyes off Verol who, of course, heard her. Chakotay watches as the squat alien cocks his head towards the sky for a moment, his eyes rippling mercury, before giving Chakotay a smug grin.

Snow begins to fall.

Janeway looks up as the first flakes land on her. "You've got to be kidding me."

Chakotay tips his head to Verol, understanding completely that Verol read his thoughts as easily as he listens to Janeway's. "Sorry. This one is my fault."

The snow falls thick and heavy as Janeway hurries to pull her damp socks back on. "Your fault? What do you mean?"

"I guess it's still as much my process as it yours."

"And you made it _snow_?" she asks incredulously as she brushes flakes off her face.

"No, I wouldn't do that intentionally…I just thought…" His voice trails off.

Back in her boots, she gets to her feet beside him. "Chakotay? What is it?"

"I've got an idea."

Verol appears on the beach, blinking suddenly into existence in contrast to his usual slow reveal. The alien scowls at his audience. "What is the meaning of this?"

Janeway's hands settle on her hips. "You're asking us?"

"Not you," Verol scowls.

"I'm testing a theory," Chakotay answers as an ominous earth-shattering crack rumbles from across the river, drawing all of their attention to the sheer rock face on the opposite shore. Chunks of snowy earth and rock break off and tumble into the river.

"What are you doing, Commander?" Verol demands, turning his back on the water.

"This is _our_ process, Verol," Chakotay answers as the entire cliff face rumbles again, snow shifting off of it as it breaks completely and slides inexorably into the river.

The noise of breaking rock and shattering trees is deafening as tons of earth and stone crash into the water. Kathryn grabs at Chakotay's elbow, pulling him backwards as the river level rises and water rushes over their feet. Pieces of the shattered kayak swirl in the muddied water, bumping against their legs as they retreat up the beach.

"Chakotay! Did you-?" Janeway scans the water in front of them, shouting to be heard over the growing roar of moving landscape. "Where's Verol?"

An alarmed cry draws their attention downstream. They both wade towards what used to be the edge of the beach and glimpse Verol flailing in the rushing water as it carries him downstream. Without hesitating, Janeway grabs a floating oar from the slowly receding water at her feet and strides forward into the deeper water.

"Captain, wait!"

"No time," she yells back as she slips into the fast moving current. "That smug little bastard isn't dying in _my_ process."

Chakotay watches as his captain is swept haphazardly towards her target. If the situation were real, he'd be panicking at her reckless attempt at rescue. As he picks his way along the crumbling and rebuilding shore, he wonders if Verol can still hear his thoughts in his panicked state. Reflexively, he looks towards the sky for anyone else that may be observing. "Do you still have doubts about her character now?"


	13. Chapter 13

**QS**

_Cells_

* * *

Tom Paris is starving. It's not the longest he's ever gone without food, but it's coming close now. He has had nothing for at least 48 hours.

"I'm still not convinced that you meet the criteria, Captain. Not even close."

Tom barely suppresses an agonized groan as the minister refuses to concede very hashed-out points.

While Janeway and Minister Kerridos engage in a not-so-silent battle of wills, Chakotay meets Tom's gaze. Chakotay needs him to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Tom understands, but it takes effort not to plead for consideration of some kind; his stomach is eating itself.

That's not quite enough grounds for interruption. From the beginning, these aliens engineered his starvation, trying to bully him back to Voyager. If he speaks up now, the Bregori may insist that he leave, and then if negotiations fail, the captain and Chakotay will be right back in the same boat, this time without his help.

He hasn't mentioned his predicament to his commanding officers. They'll feel compelled to intervene for him, and that may have the same results as speaking up for himself. After he caught himself dozing off standing up a few hours ago, he resolved to find some sustenance for himself or die trying - he just hadn't meant literally.

Janeway's voice cracks out at him, increasingly like twigs snapping in a hot fire. "Minister, I don't know how else to say it to you. We're not a threat to anyone that doesn't attack us. In fact, we usually err on the side of trying to help those we encounter, where possible."

Kerridos's tendrils are violet. As far as Tom knows, this color equates to pure obstinacy and nothing else. "I've seen evidence of this when you're in his presence," the minister insists, jerking a nod to Chakotay. "I have seen none of these qualities from you on your own."

"She's usually in my presence."

"Beside the point, Commander," Verol snarks. "We are judging the captain's personality here, not yours."

"She saved Verol," Chakotay reminds for the hundredth time in the last half-day, notably ignoring the alien's sly words. His patience is as thinly stretched as everyone else's.

"After you endangered him to begin with," Kerridos snaps, echoing Verol's words from earlier.

Tom's legs are beginning to feel weak. He's been standing for _so_ long. Yet this conversation has been sharp and prickly, with barely any ground to hold on the command team's side. If he interrupts it to ask for food or respite and negotiations go south, he won't forgive himself.

He eyes the empty pods again, trying not to shudder at the disconnected tubing. Some of those tubes give nutrients suitable for humans, he knows. If he subtly worked one into himself, unnoticed, he might be able to hang on a while longer. Alternatively, he might be able to ensure that they never work for humanoid stasis again. The Bregori probably have more somewhere but getting them here might be worth the trouble of dismantling them. It might at least buy time for Janeway and Chakotay to make some progress in this talk.

If no one noticed him near them, for instance. If it didn't interrupt anyone's train of thought.

Tom takes a testing step away from the wall.

"This is nonsense," Verol growls suddenly, and the direction of his voice gives Tom pause. It seems aimed right at him. "She's a duplicitous creature. She lies when it suits her and she cooperates when the alternatives are less favorable."

The words are clearly for Kerridos but the odd sensation that Verol's mercury pupils are fixed on him, and not his companions at the table, sweeps through Tom. Then he knows.

The pale son of a bitch is reading him or something. Verol smirks and if Tom were Bregori, his hair would be bright red. Does the captain know Verol is capable of doing this while they're awake? He tries to catch her eye but she's focused on the treacherous alien, her eyes sparkling with determined displeasure.

And so much for the idea of sneaking over to the pods.

Desperation is beginning to creep up on Tom. They can't go on like this much longer.

Verol slowly pushes himself back from the table. Smugness radiates from him as he wanders away, probably to get more food for himself to rub in Tom's face. The command team shoot him glances of distaste, but Verol's outburst served his real purpose.

The Bregori minister has renewed his purple-tendriled objections.

"Minister, what can I do to prove myself to you?" Janeway asks warily, and Tom's anger spikes at her audible fatigue.

"You can stay here in stasis, while your first officer captains your ship across our space. That's as much as I'm willing to concede at this point."

"I can't allow that," Chakotay insists, as he should, but then a small hand reaches across the narrow table to rest on his forearm.

"May I speak with my first officer alone for a moment?"

Chakotay's face goes blank, but not before Tom sees his disbelieving displeasure. He knows. He _knows_ what she's going to say. She might as well not even say it.

Kerridos nods curtly, moving to the entrance of the chamber to confer with his guards with the air of imminent victory.

Fury sweeps up Tom's parched throat. These two bull-dogs of aliens have penned them in from the beginning. They want Janeway under their control as insurance, possibly blackmail, and hopefully as nothing else. Kerridos by himself is half-reasonable at fleeting moments, but the slimy Verol has too much influence on him. And he's orchestrated it all so well that she's almost ready to concede the point and stay behind with them in exchange for Voyager's safety. Without weapons or knowledge of any structure beyond his chamber, even if they could overtake the guards at the entrance, leaving the compound without Bregori compliance will put their lives at risk. Janeway won't do that if she has an alternative.

She's starting to believe that she has no alternative.

Things clarify quickly for Tom. Playing it safe is getting them nowhere.

So when Verol stalks closely past with a tray of Bregori delicacies, intent on devouring food in front of him again, Tom's pilot reflexes do not fail him. The alien's head whips 'round in shock just in time to catch some slimy, cake-like, possible vegetable/possible animal disappearing down Tom's dry throat.

"Thanks," Tom says after swallowing, too quietly to be overheard by the table. "I was getting pretty hungry." He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve as obnoxiously as possible.

Verol's metallic pupils flash and Tom, seeing Kerridos's back turned, grins.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you? And I think we're having a conference over here, if you don't mind. The minister is giving us a moment to confer and consider your terms."

The alien can't object. Not when the meeting seems to be to Kerridos's advantage.

Verol's bristling retreat away from the table is a fine sight. Janeway and Chakotay barely notice it or Tom's approach, so intent on their hushed argument.

"Captain," Tom grits, interrupting. "You can't be considering this."

"Mister Paris," she starts to warn, and he knows what's coming next won't leave room for debate.

"Listen. Captain, please. I've been hearing all of this, and watching everything from the beginning. I'm convinced that most of this is Verol, not Kerridos."

"We've noticed," she agrees.

"What if we can find a way to shake Verol's influence on the Minister?"

Chakotay sighs. "We appreciate your input, Tom," he reminds both himself and Janeway aloud, "but we've been trying that for the last twelve hours. Verol has been blocking our progress every which way. He's the least trust-worthy creature we've met in some time, but he has the minister's trust, somehow."

"So we shake that trust," Tom insists. "We prove that he's a liar."

"I don't suppose you have an idea on how to do that, Lieutenant?"

Almost as if the universe arranged it, the doors across the vast chamber open, admitting the young Bregori girl that was Chakotay's guide. Kerridos's kind eyes follow her and Verol's resentful glance snaps over her and away. The dual reactions speak volumes to Tom. Maybe…

"Tom?" Chakotay interrupts his building thoughts. "If you have any real suggestions here, we're listening."

The guide's gaze falls on Chakotay, as it usually does.

Tom smiles grimly. "I do now."


End file.
